Midwest Tour Day 2

Ha.

Holy shit.

I met a lot of black dudes tonight.

Rappers,
real ones!

Let me back up.

I woke up at Donehoo's,
late afternoon, you know.

I hung out with his new baby,
a 9 month old who is awesome.

It's been awhile since I could
actually play with a baby comfortably.

Call me strange, but I don't like holding
stranger's or even acquaintances' babies.

But this little dude?
He's my homeboy.

We went to Kitschn for lunch/breakfast.

And I tell you what,
I've travelled all over,
eating hungover breakfast
with a regularity that would
make you think my appetite ate prunes,
and Kitschn has got to be up there in the top 3.

I got my haircut at a funky little joint across the street,
maybe a bit too short on the side, just the one side,
it wasn't her fault, I thought it was poofing out,
and I hate that, so I had her keep cutting,
and now it looks like I slept on the side
of a lawn mower.

A better day today, overall,
it started off the same, a little melancholy.

I'm not sure what it is,
but it's just funny to be back,
in my old neighborhood,
calling people to see who's free
and who's still here.

It feels like going to my parents'
house around Christmas time.

Nice, but a little sad.

So I wandered around all day,
and finally got ready for my show
out in the burbs.

Durty Nellies,
oh jesus christ.

I played there every Wednesday night
last summer, and this is my grand reunion.

The only problem is,
I played there every week last summer!

I've used up every joke, song,
line, and clever bit I ever thought of.

I've got some new ones,
don't get me wrong,
in a year I better have a few new bits.

But,
I couldn't shake the feeling
that everyone was just waiting
for me to get mean and make fun of idiots.

Well,
that's what I did.

There were these women up front,
holy shit,
they. were. dumb. bitches.

40 plus somethings
celebrating somebody's birthday.

I was ready to have fun with them,
nice, innocent fun,
but they started the aggression.

Oh I don't remember how it started,
but I remember how it ended.

They were walking out the door,
and I was saying,
"bye ladies! good luck with your marriages...."

It seemed funny at the time.

The rest of the show passed as shows do,
a little strange, with fun moments,
and one moron talking his head off in the front.

Old dude, who looked like he was dressed
by a stock boy at Foot Locker,
perpetually ready for any tennis
match that might suddenly appear.

Sunglasses on his head,
the nerdy ones that people wear
while playing volleyball or skiing,
or drinking like a douche in a dark bar.

I can't remember the last time
I let loose such a string of insults
at one man sitting three feet away from me.

And he had no clue.

I thought for one second
he might be deaf,
or actually retarded,
because I've had both
of those unfortunate incidents before,
probably at Durty Nellies.

But no,
he was just a loudmouth
with no understanding of
how a live performance is supposed to work.

whatever,
maybe I'm getting bitter in my old age,
or maybe I just expect people to sit....
oh, I don't know.... anywhere but in
the very front fucking row if you don't
want to shut up and watch the show?

So... I did my best,
tried to anyway,
maybe you were there,
and you can comment on what you thought.

I had a couple beers,
but took it real easy,
because I knew I had to
drive all the way back to the city.

I had been invited by Mike
at Soundscape Studios, (he produced Suburban Highschool, my second
album)
to a launch party for a rapper
named Naledge of Da Kidz in the Hall.

I hope I'm spelling any of that properly.

I'd met Naledge before,
and he's a cool fucking dude.

And I knew I was in for a legit party
when Mike asked me if I was wearing dress shoes.

Dress code?

Hot.

So I rolled in at 2 am,
escorted by Mike,
and the doorman said,
"come on in, Nice Peter."

eh?

I first shook hands with a gigantic bald white man.
Gigantic, like...
I handed him a dead mouse in prison
and he healed it.

"Nice Peter!! so nice to finally meet you."

eh?

We kept walking,
I was escorted by Mike
through the crowd,
rappers now mostly,
with names like "Razorlight"
and "Bugsby" and one vivacious
young lady named,
no kidding,
"Sweet Juices"

Everyone seemed happy to meet me,
and had a look of recognition in their eyes.

Wow... did I feel cool.

It turns out,
Mike at Soundscape has
been making a real name for himself
in the hip hop world of Chicago.

And, Rhymefest,
another rapper and legitimate
underground Hip Hop legend,
put me on his new mixtape.

And,
I wrote a song called 50 Cent is a Pussy,
and Mike plays that for every rapper
that comes into his studio.

so, anyway you slice it,
I was one skinny white dude,
shaking hands and taking pictures
and drinking from someone's
VIP bottle of Grey Goose,
sitting on a couch, meeting
girls named "Sweey Juices"
and "Bubbles"

And then I smoked weed outside,
after I was personally ushered by one of the security
guards, out to the place to smoke weed.

I was with a cool group,
and I took a few hits,
and I went back inside...

and I had to dance.

So,
picture my drunk, silly, high ass,
feeling important and cool, surrounded
by brothers, tearing it up on the dance floor.

Well, as much as I can tear it up,
which basically involves rocking
back and forth and waving my arms
like I'm signaling a helicopter.

So that was that,
and now I'm tired and going to bed.

-p

Midwest Tour Day One

Wow.

It's warmer in Chicago than
it is in Los Angeles.

That's weird.

I packed my coats and sweaters,
I couldn't be caught with no jacket
while I'm singing "Put Your Fucking Coat On"
now could I?

First night has been strange.

More sad than happy,
it's funny being back in my old
neighborhood, and everyone is sleeping
so I'm not out partying.

I'm just sitting in my buddy Donehoo's
spare room, trying to figure out what time
it is in LA, and why I'm so tire but can't sleep.

I got one of those PT Cruisers for a rental car,
and I feel somewhat ridiculous.

I've got my first show tomorrow,
out in the suburbs, at Durty Nellies.

I'll keep you posted.

-p

Blast

It's kind of an exciting time.

I'm going back on the road,
and that kicks ass.

I planned the tour
when I first got here
to Los Angeles, because
I hated it and thought I would
need a break more than anything.

I don't hate it now.

I'm enjoying myself,
and I'm keeping busy,
and performing, and writing
emails and making videos,
and by the sound of this so far,
writing terribly boring blog posts.

I'm going to take my computer with
me on tour and write you a post
for everyday that I'm on the road.

Will that make up for my relative silence
since I've been out here?

I hope so.

And I hope I can keep up my
end of the bargain.

What do you want to hear about, anyway?

Today I paid lots of bills and looked
into debt consolidation and sent out
some posters and sent an email to the
lady who books the Improv to show her
my new video.

How thrilling.

I'm supposed to be out chasing
chicks and smoking bongs and
drinking beers naked in a hot tub.

I did that last week.

My life isn't boring yet,
just my days.

And by the time I get to night,
I'm usually tired, and there's a girl
waiting for me in bed,
and I gotta tell you the truth,
it fucks with my ability to write.

There's something about being happy,
and not lonely, that has always
been a hinderance to art and expression.

Where do you draw the line, though?

I don't. I'm just figuring it out
as I go along.

I've got two new songs
that I'll be playing in my sets
on the tour. Maybe a third if
I can finish it in time.

And one new cover.

and lot's and lot's of new stories.

So, if you're near where I'm coming,
I hope you can make the trip to see a show.

I've got all the dates up,
and I'll have awesome new tshirts,
and I'm coming all the way from California,
for god's sake, the least you can do
is meet me from Springfield.

I love you and I'll see you soon.

And I'm talking to Ed about the next UK tour,
looks like late August, but nothing confirmed yet.

-p

Dear Gallagher's

Dear Gallagher's Pub in Huntington Beach,

You know I love you.

You are the kind of little
pub I used to play,
the kind I am used to playing.

A rowdy Irish bar
with a heavy drinking
crowd that is there to
booze and see music
as a side note.

I like the challenge,
it's how I cut my teeth so sharp.

"hey.... pub! listen to me!
I've got something funny to say
and I'll keep trying to convince
you it is worth your attention"

if all else fails,
bring a drunk dude
onstage to play backup
percussion.

In this case,
on this past Tuesday night,
the drunk dude in question
was a surfer named Trent.

Trent, you know I love you.

You joined me for the first song,
egged on by the dude in the front
with the Tom Selleck mustache.

You were actually good at that kid's
bongo I gave you to play,
years of experience at beach
side drums circles paid off.

You were welcome to stay
onstage for the set, why not?

That rowdy pub crowd can
be a tough bunch to win over.

The key is, building momentum,
never letting the energy drop
or the crowd interaction falter
so gradually the entire bar
feels like they are part of the show.

It worked! It was working,
there we were, in front of that
rough Gallagher's crowd,
rocking our balls off.

The dudes in the front were laughing,
the ladies in the back were smiling,
we even got that dark and silent
bartender to chuckle.

Everything was going great,
and at the peak of energy,
the promoter jumped onstage,
grabbed the microphone,
and said this:

"is anyone missing a girl?
we have a girl passed out
on the bathroom floor and
nobody knows who it is..... anyone
missing a girl?"

Alright! On with the comedy....
hey!.... hey!.... why isn't anyone
looking up here anymore?

Oh, yeah, maybe because they're
looking at the fucking bathroom
to see what the hell is going on.

Maybe I'll make a joke,
"wow.... I've never heard
a human being so described
as a bookbag. anyone missing
a black leather bookbag, anyone?"

Then the promoter looks at me,
and tells me sternly, "this is pretty serious,
don't joke around about it"

That's fine, I agree.
Don't joke around about
girls passed out on the floor.

However, I would also add
that maybe you should avoid
talking about girls passed out on the
floor as if they are lost wallets during
the middle of a comedy show.

It's bound to make things a bit weird.

What should I do?

Trent, my new buddy, up here onstage
protecting me with your bongo skills...
we were kicking ass just a second ago,
how do we win this crowd back over?

Trent..... where are you going?

Trent?

Oh, that's Trent's girlfriend in the bathroom.

what a night.

Wait till you see what happens next month.

-p